


As Thanks

by superfammucon



Category: Naruto
Genre: Drunkenness, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Stalking, Swearing, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 21:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12779565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfammucon/pseuds/superfammucon
Summary: In dealings with polite people, thanking can often lead to being thanked in return. A story about two people trying to be polite to each other, and the relationship they build on dozens of thank yous. Eventual GaaHina, plus other assorted pairings. Modern AU





	As Thanks

**AN:** hello my sweet buns, I have returned to the lands of fiction bearing this possible-oneshot as a sign of goodwill! So maybe if the response is good I will write some more!

 

Some explanations:

From the manga I realize that Gaara’s father is not the prick we all imagined him to be for several years. However, to be Gaara, he still needs that source of trauma, so I’m just going to say that Rasa blames Gaara for his mother’s death and becomes bitter towards him, as well as manipulative to all the people he cares about so that he can keep them “safe”. At least in his mind.

Gaara (and all other characters from other villages in canon) are attending **Konoha University** because none of the other villages sound good with University tacked onto the end! That is mostly the reason. The rest of it is...

This story takes place in Japan! Japan doesn't really have deserts or anything but it does have a heck of a lot of trees, so I pretty much thought Konoha made more sense than Suna, for instance. For authenticity there will be some Japanese words making some infrequent appearances so I will try to give some context clues to make them understandable and if that fails I will leave the definitions at the end of the chapter.

Thank you for reading and please enjoy!

* * *

 

A distant clock tower was announcing that it was nearly ten a.m. when Sabaku Gaara passed through the doors of Konoha U, opposite the flood of students arriving for their morning classes. He'd managed to sleep the previous night--a glorious full eight hours--and had unconsciously smashed his alarm clock upon its cheerful delivery of its duty. He had, his mind foggy with sleep, gone immediately back to his much needed rest, and had woken only ten minutes before his first and only class of the day. With no time to eat breakfast, let alone drink any coffee, Gaara had grabbed his computer bag and bolted out the door, down the handful of blocks between his tiny apartment and the campus of the school he attended.

Attended almost completely unwillingly. 

Trying not to think bitter thoughts about the career he was being forced into, or about the sun bearing into his eyes in an attempt to blind him, Gaara headed purposefully down the sidewalk in the direction of his favorite cafe. He couldn't function without coffee on the best of days, but had just endured a two-hour Law seminar without any of the stuff. If he had to wait another twenty minutes he would probably end up doing something he'd regret. He had, after all, been trying very hard to fix his public image for the last few years. One slip up would probably be enough to knock down the teetering tower of good he’d managed to do in a life set from the beginning to make him look like a devil.

Things were getting better for the young redhead. Twenty-two years ago, his mother had died giving birth to him. He'd been premature and sickly to begin with, but had subsequently lived through seventeen years of mental, physical, and emotional abuse and it had pushed him to the edge. Then he'd made a single friend, and that person had hauled him up out of the proverbial (and often literal) darkness, dusted him off, and sent him on his way with a smile. Now he lived away from his remaining parent, Rasa, and while he was still being controlled by his Father, he was free. He still spent time with his siblings (one of which attended the same college as he), but he never had to exchange greetings with or even look at his cunning and manipulative old man when he returned home. And for Gaara, that meant almost everything.

The other part of “everything” was the potential to have a social life, something he'd been vehemently denied in his underage years. The closest thing he'd had was when he'd huddled with other delinquents behind the Junior High he'd been enrolled in, smoking cigarettes and trying to pretend that it numbed the pain he felt. The pain they all had felt, probably. Four years ago, when he had been preparing to leave his nightmare of a childhood behind, he'd looked to the future with the hope of meeting new people who would be able to see him without any of his past marring their image of him. But it had been in vain. Rumors travel fast, and the rumors that the heir to the Sabaku Law Firm had broken someone's arm without hesitation when they had tried to return a dropped belonging had spread over a hundred miles to his new city and had dashed any hope of his finding someone to sit next to, let alone build a friendship with.

But it couldn't be helped. That particular rumor was not, after all, entirely false, and Gaara did not lie to anyone about anything. People would always recognize him immediately. Flaming red hair, a lack of eyebrows, and obvious signs of insomnia usually gave him away, and barring that, there was always the kanji tattoo on his forehead. He could do nothing but curse his upbringing and appearance and try a little harder to be friendly.

But being friendly was difficult when he was exhausted and had not yet ingested any caffeine. And he had to admit that he was a bit picky about the stuff in the first place, so the sludge they claimed was coffee sold in cans and in carafes at the University were always a no-go for Gaara. Which was why he now found himself in his coffee shop of choice, a small, cozy, and hipster-y place he'd not bothered to learn the name of. It was fairly popular for its size, which normally meant he'd avoid it but he'd found its house brew to be heavenly and discovered himself returning frequently. Such was the case in the moment as Gaara found himself face to face with the plain, dark haired barista he often glimpsed behind the service counter.

“What can I get for you today?” She looked nervous. He supposed that was normal for people who had to speak to him. Despite this he had to admit that, in the times he had come here, she had quickly become his preferred cashier. Unlike the other employees of the shop, she was the only person who managed to look him in the eye while speaking. It made him feel...human? Normal? Gaara had never been good at determining what emotions he encountered, but had concluded it was, at least, a positive feeling.

“Just a tall house blend, please.” He tried very hard to make his voice as unimposing as possible, but he'd learned long ago that his stoic face may as well be set in stone for all of the emoting he did (or, in this case, did not do). The barista calculated his cost and they exchanged currency as she set about completing his order. Gaara watched as she moved gracefully from one counter to the next, her movements belying either a history of athletics or that of a high-class upbringing. She stood ramrod straight, her head held high and her shoulders pushed back as if she had never dared to hold poor posture in all of her life. Her uniform--a white button up, the sleeves rolled to her elbows, and a black pencil skirt reaching below her knees--looked as though it had been carefully maintained, even pressed and ironed, before wear. Gaara wondered why she bothered. Her neatly tucked shirt was mostly hidden by the green apron she and all other employees had to wear during their shift, its bindings tied into the neatest of bows at the small of her back and the nape of her neck. As he watched she rounded back towards him, her small hands holding his coveted drink, and offered him a gentle smile.

“There you are,” she chirped cheerfully. He nodded his thanks and moved aside for the person in line behind him who had given him a very wide berth.

A moment later he was settled into a small, round table in a corner, next to a window, clutching his warm drink and booting up his laptop to read through the case file he had to analyze for a class.

Outside, clouds had begun to roll in and obscure the blue of the sky. Vaguely he noted that he would have to wait it out should the weather turn and rain begin to fall. At the moment, everything seemed so far away. The aroma of roasted coffee and the faint smell of cinnamon filled his nostrils, combining with the warmth emanating from the cardboard cylinder in his hand to calm his stressed mind. He closed his eyes. The laptop in front of him whirred peacefully, the barista a few yards away making soft sounds as she busied herself stocking one thing or another. For a moment, Gaara sat, and enjoyed the peace.

Then, he cracked his fingers, rolled his neck, and set about doing his homework. For Gaara, law was not a terribly interesting subject. Objectively he knew that he was good at it; his father had made sure of that. But he did not enjoy it. If he had been able to make his own decisions he would not have returned to the lands of academia but attended a trade school for his real passion. For now though, he would take advantage of his father and his father’s money until he was settled enough to do what he wanted. Gaara’s car, phone, and apartment were all being paid for by his old man. If he went against the elder Sabaku’s wishes the rug would surely be yanked from beneath his feet. And then the living nightmare would come back.

Gaara would do anything to avoid returning to the life he had escaped from, so law school it was. For now.

He set about his studying like clockwork, his finger rolling the wheel on his mouse mechanically as he occasionally took sips of his drink. The case his professor had chosen was incredibly average and he fought to keep his attention as he attempted to find something worth learning in the material. Law was all about paying attention to every minute detail; the difference between implied meaning and the true meaning. That was something Gaara’s father had really forced into his psyche; carefully worded implication does not necessarily count as lying. And oh, did the head of the Sabaku Law Firm take advantage of that truth. Gaara supposed being a criminal defense lawyer--often called _the best_ defense lawyer, at least in Japan--would precipitate a familiarity with almost-lies to be crucial.  

In a distant realm from inheritances and divorces and other matters of the law, the door to the coffee shop opened, followed by a gentle jingling of a bell and two sets of heavy footsteps. Aware of the newcomers, but not really acknowledging them, Gaara continued with his work. A few yards away, the barista called out to welcome the recent arrivals. If Gaara had been paying attention, he may have noticed how timid and cautious she sounded, but he took no notice. A moment later, though, his eyes shot sideways to glance her way when she squeaked loudly.

Her face had paled considerably since she’d spoken with him. Her arm was being forced into the air far in front of her, and judging from her expression, it was causing a great amount of discomfort. Gaara’s eyes followed the line of her outstretched limb to the hand holding it aloft. It belonged to a man of medium height and, Gaara supposed, above-average looks. The man’s face was warped slightly; the look of a person intoxicated blaring on his features. The air in the shop became suddenly thick with tension.

“Sir, puh...please l-let go of me,” she whimpered, her voice wavering even as she obviously worked to keep it steady, “I...I’ve already told you several times that I appreciate the o-offer, but th-that I am n-not--!” Suddenly the man yanked her arm further across the counter and she yelped out in pain. Gaara quickly surveyed the room; several people were gathering their belongings and leaving, clearly intending to pretend they hadn't noticed anything was the matter. Others stared pointedly away or talked too loudly. None of them intended to do anything. He gritted his teeth.

“You’re still sayin’ tha?! An’ I’ve been so patient, too!” The man’s voice boomed across the shop, ensuring everyone heard him perfectly. There could be no pretending now. A few more people made to leave. Gaara stood carefully, trying not to alert the man to his presence, letting the instincts his father drilled into him take over.

“I’m sorry bu-but I-I-I really ca--!!” The barista was interrupted as the man yanked her slight frame over the counter forcefully, and she fell in a heap at his feet. He opened his mouth to yell at her again, but Gaara was already between them, having moved more quickly than the stranger could react to in removing the woman from his reach. Anyone who hadn't left yet was clearing out as if there was a fire in the building upon seeing what had happened and who had joined the fray.

“Leave,” Gaara said firmly as the dark-haired girl behind him sobbed slightly and stumbled to her feet. Her assailant stepped back, sizing up his new opponent carefully. His heavy breaths washed over Gaara in hot waves accompanied by the too-familiar smell of alcohol, making his blood boil.

“An’ who the hell are you?”

“No one in particular,” Gaara said carefully, holding his arms out slightly in case his adversary decided to dive for the person behind him. “What is it you are trying to do?”

The man sneered in response. “I've been offerin’ to take this plain Jane bitch out for the past few months, all nice and courteous-like, but she still has the balls to turn me down, even though no other guy’d have her,” he ended his sentence tauntingly, even now jeering at the girl trembling from his previous actions. “An’ I'm just s’posed to take this disr’spec’ sittin’ down? Like hell I will!”

“So you've been harassing her. And now you've assaulted her on top of that. Both are serious crimes.” Gaara took a deep breath and continued, “Unless you're looking for a jail sentence I would recommend you stop there and leave.” The drunkard in front of him suddenly looked enraged, and his arm swung up to strike at the cause of his annoyance--

Suddenly someone grabbed his wrist. Three pairs of eyes turned to look at another man, this one younger and more frightened looking than the first. Gaara realized this person had accompanied the violent one into the store and had, like the barista, hidden meekly behind his companion.

“Kyoudai,” the timid man said fearfully, “we need to go. Now.”

The angry man looked at him in disbelief, but before he could retaliate, the timid man continued, “M-maybe you didn't recognize him. That's Sabaku Gaara, r-right?”

Now the remaining people turned to stare at Gaara, who remained in his defensive position, unflinching. The angry man’s arm lowered, and, with nothing but a loud huff of frustration, the two were out the door.

Gaara straightened up, feeling a rare moment of gratitude for his reputation as he watched the two men’s retreating backs. “Are you hurt?” he asked, turning to the barista. He tried to keep his voice gentle, although his instincts were screaming for the blood of the person who dared remind him of his past trauma. She stared at him, her eyes round as saucers, uncomprehending. He waited, but she did not move.

Slowly, so she could see it coming, he placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her slightly. She blinked.

“Oh!” she gasped, and stepped back. He dropped his hand. “Are you injured?” he asked again, wondering if he should call an ambulance to treat her for shock. Finally she shook her head. “I w-was just d-dazed, I guess?” He gestured to his table and she shakily sat across from him.

“You should call your boss,” he suggested, digging through his bag for his phone, “I’ll call the police.”

“N-no!” Gaara’s head shot up to look at her in surprise. Her face was panicked, eyes wide and mouth slightly open to protest further. He found himself taking notice of her eyes; They were a pale almost-lavender grey. “P-please don't call the police. My father…” she trailed off and looked down at her hands pressed to the tops of her knees, avoiding his gaze.

“You should file a police report so that you can get a restraining order if it becomes necessary...,” he tried again, feeling confused but certain that it needed to be done. She shook her head, waves of black swishing around her reddened face. “He will probably come back and try to hurt you again. I really think you should--” He stopped, seeing she was shaking her head again. Gaara began to feel exasperated.

“H-he...wasn't in his right mind. And….m-my father will surely m-make sure he is punished t-to the furthest extent,” she explained slowly, trailing off. He had to admit he didn't understand where she was going with this.

His brow furrowed as he inquired, “What of it?”

“His l-life could be ruined….because he made a mistake,” she whispered, her fingers pushing together nervously.

 _Could it be that she has concern for his well-being despite him attacking her?_ Gaara looked more closely at the young woman, scrutinizing her for any sign that she was trying to appear more charitable than she felt. This did not seem to be the case and he found that he was baffled that anyone could be so apprehensive about negatively impacting the life of another when that very person had incited violence towards them. Perhaps it was just as he’d always thought. _The minds of others are too different for me to understand after all._

Why had he interfered? Having people see him acting aggressively would probably put them off even further. It more likely would have been in his interest to just call the police when he'd first noticed the trouble. But having people stand by and watch when they could have helped… Even the thought of it infuriated Gaara. If people were not so concerned with themselves…

That was definitely not something he needed to think about right now. Pushing his negative thoughts away, he refocused on his current situation and said, “Then...your boss, at least.” She nodded shyly, then moved as if she were going to stand, but stopped.

“Th...Thank you so much for helping me,” she whispered, her words sounding so genuine it took him aback slightly. Without waiting for his response, she bowed deeply then continued towards the counter, presumably to retrieve her cell. Her steps were shaky and, though it had been perfect earlier, her posture was now hunched and defensive, her previous relaxation having flown out the door when her assailant had opened it.

Gaara turned to his bag again and began to pack his things. It was as he was placing his wireless mouse in the appropriate pocket that he realized the weather had changed once again. Where only a few hours ago the sky had been clear and blue, then overcast and grey, it was now a deep shade of charcoal. Fat drops of moisture fell from the lumpy, thick clumps of clouds obscuring the atmosphere, pelting the window and sidewalk with a surprising amount of force. He stared blankly, his hand frozen in the distance between the table and computer bag. He straightened back up and placed his mouse in its previous position on the surface of his workspace. His left index finger drummed thoughtfully in front of him as he attempted to find a way out of his situation.

Gaara had walked to school. Taking his car during rush hour and trying to find a parking space in the crowded school lots would have taken more time, precious moments he would need to use to reach his class before his professor marked him absent (and lowered his grade accordingly). He dived for his belongings suddenly as a thought struck him. Had he even remembered his cell phone in his rush? A quick inventory of the paraphernalia he _had_ managed to collect told him that he had not.  He let out a moan and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to alleviate some of his growing frustration.

_Okay. I just have to keep myself occupied here for a while until the rain lets up. It’s not a big deal. People hang out in public places for hours all the time. If other people can do it, so can I._

As Gaara was booting his computer up for the third time that day, movement in the corner of his vision caught his attention. He looked up to see the barista back at the counter. She seemed prepared to continue her work as usual, her relaxed expression and perfect posture having found their way back to her countenance. Their eyes met, and she smiled at him.

 _Well,_ Gaara thought, turning back to his laptop, _if she feels well enough to go about her day I’m not about to stop her._

The two of them occupied the small shop together peacefully for several further hours, Gaara reading and assessing file after file, his female companion stocking pastries in the display case. Once he thought he saw her drooling as she carefully placed icing-laden cinnamon rolls on the wax paper lining.

Outside, the rain continued to fall heavily, oblivious to Gaara’s predicament. The sky proceeded to darken as the minutes turned to hours and his reading list became perilously short. He looked resignedly at his watch, which read quarter to five. He’d spent seven hours already cooped up in the cafe, sitting on his butt and staring at a computer screen. His legs ached. But what else could he do? If he tried to go out in the rain, his laptop and its contents would be put in jeopardy. He could probably weasel the money for a new one from his old man, but the files themselves were not replaceable, and many of them were of such nature that uploading them online could be dangerous.

Just as Gaara was considering breaking the long-held silence to request borrowing the cashier’s phone, his stomach grumbled and the person in question turned her pale eyes on him.

She seemed to perk up at the thought of being helpful. “Can I get you something to help with that?”

“No, thank you,” he said, mentally punching himself for not having brought a snack when he’d left the house. _Scratch that. I should have brought my damned phone._ Gaara did _not_ do prepackaged convenience food, even if it was the variety that had to be baked before being served. Again he opened his mouth to inquire about making a phone call, but was interrupted.

“I insist! It’s on me. As thanks, for uh…,” she looked shyly at her fingers, pressed to the top of the service counter, “...you know. Um, if you don’t know what to order, I recommend the cinnamon rolls! They’re my favorite.”

 _Is this one of those situations where I have to say yes to be polite?_ Social etiquette was decidedly not Gaara’s strong suit. He _really_ did not want to eat a cinnamon roll; the smell was nice, but he preferred not to ingest sweet things. His stomach growled again and he grimaced, then stood and walked to the counter to look at the menu mounted high on the wall behind it.

“To be honest, I don’t usually eat anything I haven’t made myself,” he admitted to the girl in front of him. Her smile wavered slightly.

“I promise I’ll make whatever you order perfectly,” she vowed, her expression determined. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly at that. On her delicate features, determination just looked...out of place? But why would ‘out of place’ make him want to grin at her like an idiot?

“Then,” he said slowly, dragging himself out of his own thoughts, “which items do you make to order?”

As she prattled a list off the top of her head--an impressive feat, judging from the length--Gaara listened closely for something that sounded bearable.

“That,” he said finally, “the uh...Salmon Bagel.”

“Coming right up!” He watched in amusement as she rung it up and paid for it herself, noticing that the sleeves of her blouse were now wrapped around her wrists before she hurried away to what he presumed was a small kitchen in the back. Not knowing how long the wait would be, he wandered back over to his table and stared out the window for what seemed like the millionth time. As he did, his eyes met the cornflower-blue ones of a girl about his age, with a long blonde ponytail, wearing an outfit similar to that of the woman he’d just finished speaking to. _A coworker,_ he decided as the blonde looked away quickly, refusing to meet his eyes again. She hurried inside, then behind the counter and into the back room.

Gaara began to feel out of place as soon as the new girl entered. The dark haired girl made him feel welcomed, but if another employee was arriving her shift was likely almost up. Not to mention the blonde was a lot less likely to help him than the other. _It's settled then,_ he decided, _as soon as she comes back out--_

“One salmon bagel for you, sir,” announced a voice, said too quickly, as a lightly tanned hand placed a ceramic plate in front of him almost faster than he could see. Gaara looked up to see the blonde standing over him, her features screwed up into a tense smile, drawn overly wide across her face. His heart sank slightly.

Pulling himself together, Gaara asked, “Where did the dark-haired one go?”

In front of him, the girl’s smile widened even more, adding to his discomfort. “Hinata’s shift is almost over, so she’s preparing to leave. Is there anything else you needed?”

If it was possible, Gaara’s heart found its way further into his stomach as he replied, “No, thank you.” Before he’d even finished the girl had turned on her heel and rushed away from him. Pushing his disappointment away, he turned to look at his bagel. It looked surprisingly appetizing. A plain, toasted bagel half sat cut side up on the dish, spread with cream cheese topped with scallions and black pepper. Placed carefully on top were thin slices of salmon, arranged artfully into a rosette shape. Gingerly he picked it up and looked at it carefully, wondering if he could replicate it. Once he felt satisfied that he could, he brought it to his lips and took a bite.

The bagel, slightly crisp on the edges while warm and soft on the inside, had soaked up a small amount of the half-melted cream cheese, and the difference in texture was immensely pleasant. The scallions weren't bruised on the ends, showing that they were freshly cut with a well-sharpened knife, not precut and sitting in a bin the entire day. And the salmon--smoked, warm where it met the bagel and cool at the top--was not overbearing or cloying in its salted, fishy taste.

Gaara sat, chewing slowly, amazed at the feeling of enjoyment he felt. Cooking was one of the one things in life he really had a passion for. When you treat food right, it responds accordingly. It would never betray or hurt you as long as you showed it the proper respect. Most people, Gaara had learned, either did not show that respect or weren't aware it was needed at all. For those reasons he often refused to eat food others had prepared, but here, in a small cafe on a backstreet near the campus of his University, he'd found someone who seemed to understand those same truths that he did. He took another bite, wondering if it would be okay for him to ask the girl (Hinata, the blonde one had said) for her…number?

 _Is that really okay? Isn't asking for someone's number usually implying something else?_ Lost in his thoughts of food-love and social etiquette (again) Gaara noticed only too late the person he was thinking about was now on the other side of the door, disappearing into the darkness, a transparent umbrella patterned with flowers shielding her from the rain.

Gaara froze, his bite of bagel sitting unchewed in his mouth.

Leave it to his luck to immediately lose his chance at making a friend the moment he considers it. He stared at his food, refusing to allow himself to feel disappointed. _It's not like I'll never see her again. I see her all the time! She would probably run away if I asked anyways. I am Sabaku Gaara. I'm terrible at making friends. No point in getting my hopes up._

Gaara shifted his focus back to his meal and pondered possible solutions to his laptop problem. Perhaps he could ask the cashier for a few plastic bags to cover his laptop and bolt back to his apartment. If he also wrapped his jacket around it, there was a good chance it wouldn't be damaged by the time he made it back to his living space.

He finished up the bagel (licking a bit of cream cheese off his finger as he did) and stood to return the plate. As Gaara neared the counter, the door behind him suddenly flew open in a storm of jingling bells, the thundering sound of rain, the sound of a closing umbrella, and wet footsteps. He turned to see the newcomer, but was surprised to realize it was the barista that had just left.

She was bent over, her hands on top of her knees as she fought to catch her breath. Her clothes were slightly wet and she looked more disheveled than when he had seen her leave. Immediately Gaara’s thoughts went to the drunk from earlier; had he ambushed her?

Then she spoke, interrupting his thoughts.

“Do...do you…” Hinata inhaled deeply, gasping for breath.

“Is everything alright?” he queried, carefully walking to her side. He was pleased when she didn't jump away, but nodded at him in response.

“S-sorry…I couldn't make up my mind before I l-left...so I ran back…” She finally straightened up, her face red, and took one final heave of air.

“Do you, maybe...not have an umbrella?”

Gaara stared at the woman in front of him blankly. She ran back to ask him _that?_ Had she hit her head in the earlier scuffle?

She must have realized his confusion, because she added quickly, “I-I thought maybe you were stuck here because of the rain...you hung around for so long… I-I-if y-you w-w-want…!” Her stutter was causing her speech to be nearly unintelligible, but she screwed up her face and practically shouted, “I ca-can walk you home s-so you don't get w-wet!”

Silence. Gaara continued to stare and Hinata, her face bunched up and turning redder by the moment, kept her face pointed down at her toes.

At long last, Gaara cleared his throat and said, softly, “I would like that.”

* * *

**AN:** something _I_ would like: a beta. I've no idea how to go about getting one. Thoughts?

Some fun tidbits for you:  
I originally named this story _Light in the Dark (Roast)_. To be honest I'm still kind of fond of that but it sounds a little silly!  
I own two transparent umbrellas, one with a koi pattern and the other with leaves. They really make me smile! I wanted to give Hinata the fish one but I think flowers suit her infinitely more.

Kyoudai: Brother/Bro, usually used between people who aren't actually blood brothers, but can literally mean a set of brothers. In this instance it's more of a “bro” thing.

Please let me know if you are interested in further chapters! Its hard to do something that is this much work without encouragement! Thank you <3


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